


Five Shots in a Row

by cloverfield



Series: Have a Drink on Me [2]
Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Consensual Blood Drinking, Five Times, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Post-Series, Sappy Ending, Smut, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:52:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshot spin-offs from Nightcap, in which Fai feeds from Kurogane five times, in five slightly different ways. Written for a request meme for a friend. NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restraint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittenKin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/gifts).



> Sequel to Nightcap, which was originally written for the CLAMPkink prompt "Kurogane/Fai; Fai's first post-Celes blood-drinking." This was written for Kitten, who asked for five times they forgot one important detail while Fai was feeding... and I grabbed the idea, ran with it and took it to strange places indeed. Technically each chapter is stand alone, though they are chronological; you don't have to read Nightcap before this, though it might make it a little easier to understand.
> 
> It is NSFW, but not in this first chapter. This chapter is all about the angst.

It doesn’t always end in sex, surprisingly. Or perhaps not so much; he’s had to feed Fai in front of the kid and the manjuu more than once or twice, and even Watanuki on one memorable occasion after he took over the dimension shop following the death of the witch. But since the chances are better than most that Fai’s teeth in his throat - _scraped slowly over his skin, nibbling delicately along the line of his collarbone, pressing teasingly against the lines of his scars_ \- will send them spiralling down into something best kept private (and  _away_  from the meddling manjuu) for the most part Kurogane remembers to make sure the door is locked and the lights are low, and to take all of the other little precautions they’ve picked up over the years, a half-dozen little rituals that make this act so different now from what it used to be.  
  
But sometimes they  _can’t_ \- and sometimes they forget.

* * *

**Restraint**

* * *

It’s rarer these days that Mokona separates them; insofar as Fai can tell, the small creature has matured as much as the rest of them, and the instinctive control of the warp and weft of her intrinsic dimensional magic has undergone the same fine-tuning that Syaoran’s sword technique has, or the motor-control of Kurogane’s mechanical arm, or even the whistling spells he himself takes the time to practice with in the worlds that are safe and welcoming to his magic. It still happens, rare though it is, and when Fai wakes alone in the middle of a red-dirt wasteland, his companions nowhere in sight and the bond between him and his prey stretched thin to vanish into the distant horizon he scarcely holds onto his composure by his fingertips.

It takes him four days to find a source of water even using his magic to dowse for it, and by then his white cloak is a ruddy brown, caked with dust; his skin doesn’t burn beneath the hot, high sun -his magic makes sure of that- but he feels the sting as though it did, and when he splashes his face with the gritty, bitter water from a shallow, subterranean pool carved into the side of a looming hill of stone and red ochre, it takes him a little while to realise the salty taste on his cracked and dry lips is that of his own tears.  
  
He can’t die of thirst or hunger; he knows that much from the tower, from the months -years? days? centuries?- spent surrounded by corpses and snow, and food and drink are more of a human-like conceit he refuses to give up, but it doesn’t make the need that cramps in his belly or the dryness of his mouth any less bearable as he follows the insistent  _pull_  beneath his breastbone and walks doggedly forward over blistered and sunburnt earth.  
  
Time passes in the ragged flashes of his magic he uses to teleport himself forward in erratic bursts over the landscape; the yellow moon reels drunkenly through its cycle at night, the shadowy craters on its surface like smudged fingerprints, and during the day he walks step by dragging step across the packed earth as the sun scorches down. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t  _stop_ , and when the twisting, gnawing ache in his belly rips into a burn that makes his limbs heavy and his magic spluttery and weak as it has never been, he wonders if the thin-boned hands he stretches before himself will ever stop shaking.  
  
It is something like sixty-two days by his reckoning when the trembling, unseen cord that draws him forward yanks suddenly tight; he stumbles over his feet and falls in the dusty lee of the dried-out river bank he has been following for a while now, and when he staggers upright, Fai knows the rumbling cloud of dust he can see in the distance -barely a speck, but growing larger and larger with each passing second- is meant for him.  
  
He breaks into a run, wills his aching legs to run faster, the last dregs of his tired magic to speed him on.  
  
He sees Syaoran first, his face tanned brown but for the pale rings about his eyes where he pushes his goggles up into his dusty hair, Mokona clinging to the billowing cape that snaps out behind him; his youngest companion sits astride a roaring hoverbike, dust kicked up beneath its racing engine, and the jubilant shout he gives as he wheels his bike sidewards and leaps from its back kindles hope like a guttering flame in his chest. He gestures wildly at the truck following on behind, gunmetal grey and lashed with ribbons of dust as it speeds towards him, and as it draws to a lurching stop a scarce handful of metres before him, Fai gathers the last scraps of strength he can bring to bear and throws himself towards it; he stumbles past Syaoran, and collapses into the arms of the man that leaps from its high cabin, Kurogane’s hands grabbing him firmly by the arms and reeling him in even as his hands claw at broad shoulders and his filthy clothes smear dirt and dust over the dark clothes of his lover.  
  
“Fai,” says Kurogane, voice rough; his head jerks back instinctively as Fai’s lips find that strong chin, his hungry mouth that bared throat, and there is no warning as his teeth sink into salty, sweat-speckled skin.  
  
He is not gentle. He  _can’t_  be, not with the roaring emptiness twisting in his belly, the humming urgency that flutters in his hollowed out chest;  _he can’t be_ , not when his control deserts him and his legs buckle, Kurogane sinking to his knees and pulling him down with him, Fai’s thin hands clutching urgently at dark hair as his mouth moves against torn skin and blood, gloriously _red_  and steaming hot and sweet past his teeth, washes down the back of his throat in a river, in a  _torrent_. He can’t stop, he  _won’t_ stop,  _he needs this_  and not even the strong arms that tighten fiercely about his back or the rumbling murmur of the ninja’s voice against his cheek, breath hot on his dry and dirt-caked skin, is enough to draw him back from the dark and raging hunger that threatens to sweep him away- and soon, scarcely a hundred heartbeats or so, that strong grip slackens and Kurogane’s voice shakes and goes silent.  
  
He drinks and drinks and  _drinks_ \- and it isn’t until he feels the magic swell in his blood once more, a sweet blue burn behind his scrunched-shut eyes, that he jerks back with a gasp; blood splatters upwards in a wide arc, wetting the dust and dirt on his face as Fai whips his head back, teeth unsheathing from torn skin with a sickening wet  _pop_ , the warrior ashen-faced and slumped in his arms with red eyes glazed and unseeing, and for a terrifying moment Fai thinks he’s killed him.  
  
But that heart beats still, and though it stutters a little, Kurogane’s pulse throbbing in his ears, in his chest, in the slow heat of his lover’s blood twisting through his veins, the sound is soothing; he clutches tighter and Kurogane makes a groaning kind of noise as Fai drags him closer still, the two of them crouched and tangled in the red dirt of this strange desert, in each other and he pays no mind to the urgent speech of Syaoran and Mokona behind him as the desperate, seething burning in his belly finally,  _finally_ quiets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's theme for what was forgotten was 'restraint'; Fai is normally very careful and considerate when he feeds, and does his best not to get carried away no matter the circumstances. Obviously this does not take into account starvation and instinct when in the face of an emergency situation, however.


	2. Privacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second one-shot, and it follows on pretty quickly chronologically from the last, with just enough time for Fai to recover. This fic is NSFW, but this chapter is not- unless you count eye-sex. (And since we are in the CLAMPdom, I feel I need to specify that I mean the 'smouldering gaze' kind of eye-sex. Not the other kind.)

* * *

**Privacy**

* * *

 

“Well,” says Syaoran flatly, and even Kurogane blinks at the sarcasm in his voice, “that was fun.” The boy groans and stretches his legs out in front of him as he slumps down on the metal bench- but he is careful to keep his feet from the glowing, sparking barrier that walls them into this small concrete cell, and his face is disgruntled as he folds his arms over his chest. “Mokona, I know you don’t have control where you land, but next time can you please be careful and try not to dump us in the middle of a crime scene?”  
  
“Mokona is sorry, and didn’t mean to bounce on the detective and get tangled in the curtains and accidentally swallow the evidence.” The small creature’s ears droop pitifully, and Kurogane feels a brief flash of irritation that he feels somewhat sorry for the manjuu of all things - _he really is getting soft these days_ \- and scoops it up in one hand to lob it lazily at Fai, the mage hunched in the corner of the tiny room with his back against concrete. Fai brings up a hand to catch it without looking, and coos some soothing nonsense at it- but that he doesn’t tuck it immediately into the folds of his clothing is a warning sign that makes Kurogane sit up straighter, cursing at the way the cell seems to shrink as he tries to stretch himself out.  
  
“Well, we’re here now,” he says, giving up all pretence of trying to make himself comfortable on the tiny metal bench that juts from the back wall, and standing to lean in the other corner of the cell. “Just have to figure out how to get past that barrier.” He shifts his weight a bit, pressing his left shoulder into the cool triangle of concrete, and it is no coincidence that he does so; after the three of them were arrested on some jumped-up charge - _conspiracy to teleport into a crime scene my ass, the hell kind of criminal charge is that!_ \- it took five policemen to subdue him and only after his companions were already in custody. One of their mages had hit him with some sort of static blast that jolted up his mechanical arm in a rush of burning electricity, and the cables and conductors where metal feeds into his flesh have been sparking painfully since.  
  
“Mokona thinks that once we’re outside, our magic should work again,” says the manjuu, speaking up from where it sits curled on Fai’s shoulder; the mage’s hair catches on its fur as the creature turns, eyeing the barrier that holds them worriedly. “Then Mokona can bring out the circle and we can leave.”  
  
Syaoran sighs wearily. “Yeah, that would be good. The magic seal is making me feel kind of ill…” and immediately Kurogane’s gaze snaps to the mage, shoulders hunched over awkwardly and silent for the past few minutes.  _Oh._  
  
“Mage,” he says evenly, and Fai flinches.  
  
“I’m fine,” comes the mumble, and it’s such a bald-faced lie that even  _Syaoran_  calls him out on it, nudging him in the back with his boot.  
  
“Fai,” says the boy crossly, and part of him is amused at how stern the brat sounds then, “if I’m feeling queasy, I don’t even want to  _know_  how you feel right now. Your magic outstrips mine, and pretending you’re not hurting is only going to make us worry and Kurogane mad at you.” His amusement drops away as he glares at the kid, who evidently knows far too much for his own good, but Syaoran looks boldly back at him, something like laughter twitching in the corners of his mouth. “What? I’m right, you know. You can pretend all you like sensei, but ever since that desert world you’ve been clucking over him like a mother hen.”  
  
And Kurogane doesn’t want to think about the hellish two months spent searching for the mage, or the wretched, dirt-caked creature they finally found, so he growls under his breath and against the odds that makes the kid grin at him. Stupid cheeky brat.  
  
“Please Fai,” says Mokona softly, and maybe that plea is what gets to the mage in the end, because he lifts his head and looks Kurogane squarely in the eye- and the sight of two eyes golden and  _hungry_  raises the hair on the back of his neck.  
  
“I can barely feel my magic,” says Fai quietly, bringing one hand up to cradle Mokona. “The vampire blood is… active, now that my magic is sealed away.” He licks his lips, and his voice is thick with some emotion Kurogane rarely hears outside the bedroom. “Kuro-sama, please stay over that side of the cell. I would not recommend coming any closer to me at the moment.”  
  
But Syaoran is thoughtful, quick mind working away, and he looks between the two of them thoughtfully. “Actually… I think I remember you telling me once that your magic feeds off the vampire blood in you, Fai,” and there’s that same scholarly spark in his eye that reminds Kurogane of the first kid almost too much, “so I think… yes, that might work. Fai,” he starts, turning to the mage with a determined look on his face. “I think that if we get your magic working again we can probably overload the barrier and get out of here.” There’s a bright gleam in his smile now. “You’re  _much_  more powerful than that barrier is, and I don’t think the seal can hold your magic on top of mine and Mokona’s, and there’s no bars, so…”  
  
He trails off, but Kurogane can see what he’s getting at, because that flimsy magical barrier is the only thing holding them in. Honestly, he’d have busted open the walls soon enough himself, but with his mechanical arm sparking uselessly and the magic that holds Ginryuu inside his arm unreachable, the plan the kid’s come up with is the best one they’ve got. “Alright,” he says firmly, “We’ll give it a shot. Get over here, mage.”  
  
Fai blinks at him, startled- but his pupils sharpen into dark slits, and there’s an unmistakeable tremble across his shoulders. He swallows, and the sound is painfully loud, but his eyes are hot and instantly Kurogane feels that same shiver of  _predator_  roll down his spine.   
  
“Syaoran,” he says, voice a husky burr, “take Mokona please. And don’t… don’t look.” The boy blinks and does as he’s told, taking the manjuu from Fai as he stands and draws himself up to his full height; something in the mage’s expression must finally click, and the kid flushes and turns away as Fai stalks - _yes, stalks, there’s no other word for it, and he feels himself flatten against the wall as that hot gaze rakes over his body, pin-point pressure where those burning eyes come to rest on the pulse that jumps in his throat_ \- over to him.  
  
He’s already breathing fast, and in spite of himself, in spite of the cell, the company, the painful tingling of fried circuits in his mechanical arm, he still feels the slow burn of arousal glow in his gut at the way the mage, at the way  _Fai_  is looking at him- and maybe his lover can smell it, can taste it, because those sharp-slitted pupils flare wide and dark as Fai takes an open-mouthed breath, white teeth gleaming, and one long-fingered hand grabs his chin to tilt his head at a better angle.  
  
“Mokona, don’t look,” hisses Syaoran in the background, but Kurogane doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence because Fai is too close now, the heat from his body radiating outwards and soaking through his clothes, and quite suddenly there are teeth in his throat and it’s a struggle not to let his eyes roll back in his head as pleasure spikes in his blood.  
  
He smacks his hand flat against the wall, and distantly he is aware of his fingernails scraping against concrete, but Kurogane can’t pretend that the bulk of his concentration is taken up by the need to  _not_  grab the mage and drag him closer, crush that lean, lithe frame against his own and run his fingers down the arch of his spine; he can’t even spare a moment to feel awkward or strange for doing this in front of the kid or the manjuu, because he is trying  _so hard_  to not let the desperate needy sound clawing in his chest trickle out through his teeth as Fai’s lips move softly over his skin, the slick press of his tongue and the urgent pull of his mouth chasing fire into his belly and making him  _want_.  
  
A strong hand suddenly fists in his shirt, dragging him off the concrete; Fai makes a hungry noise in the back of his throat, a rumbling kind of growl that vibrates where his mouth is latched onto Kurogane’s throat, and if his knees go a little weak in spite of his self-control and their audience, it isn’t  _his_  fault- but his lover abruptly breaks away with a gasp of satisfaction, the sound so very sexual and incredibly inappropriate considering their circumstances, and as Kurogane blinks rapidly to refocus his gaze, he can practically see the glow of embarrassment on the brat’s face even with his back turned to them.  
  
“ _Mmm,_ ” moans Fai, and licks his lips; his eyes are glazed over- and awash with a vicious, haunting  _blue_. Kurogane’s heart stutters in his chest as the mage’s hand uncurls from his shirt and he staggers back against the wall, the wound in his neck still bleeding sluggishly, but resolutely ignored as Fai’s eyes fix on his face. “You were right, Syaoran-kun,” he says quietly, but he’s not looking at the kid, he’s looking at  _Kurogane_ , and those eyes say very clearly  _after I get us out of here I need to get us alone_ and that makes heat lurch in his belly.  
   
“We’re getting out of here,” growls Fai, snapping one arm out to the side; runes and sigils explode outwards from his slender fingers, coalescing into a swirling mass of power that slams into the barrier, filling the cell with the smell of burning ozone and lightning- but Fai whistles, sudden and sharp through blood-pinked teeth, and the barrier shatters into a thousand glittering shards of magic. Somewhere distant a siren wails, and Syaoran cries “Mokona, bring out your circle!”- but Kurogane’s gaze is still held by Fai’s own and as the mage smiles - _slow, fierce, beautiful_ \- he can’t stop himself from shivering in anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme for this part was 'privacy', in that normally Fai would not have a snack anywhere the kids could see. Obviously, sometimes circumstances aren't that kind, and it was interesting to play with that slightly voyeuristic aspect.


	3. Towel (& Omake)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This third one-shot takes place sometime later, and includes a bonus omake which I threw in down the end. It was a scene that could not help be written, despite the fact it was a) ridiculous, and b) in the wrong POV for this chapter. This chapter is not NSFW. That's next chapter.

* * *

**Towel**

* * *

It is too easy to slip past Syaoran. The boy is off in a world of anthropological delights, rambling about “cultural development” and “the role of the marketplace in informal information transference” to an audience of Mokona and a few scattered passersby that had made the mistake of maintaining eye contact, and as such Fai feels no guilt whatsoever about grabbing his ninja by his silken cravat and dragging him into a secluded alleyway. Their son is a mostly-grown young man, after all, albeit one irrationally fascinated by artefacts and bric-a-brac; he can keep himself entertained for an hour or two without his companions, of that Fai is sure.  
  
“Just a quick nip, Kuro-sama,” Fai murmurs, somewhat muffled by the crimson silk he snags with his teeth; his hands are occupied, curling around broad shoulders to dig his fingernails into the heavy wool coat his lover wears against the evening chill, so he must make do. His breath fogs in while clouds along the line of Kurogane’s throat as his cravat is tugged loose and slips downwards in a whisper of cloth, the ninja’s dark head tipping back against the wall he is pinned to and one big hand coming to rest low in the small of his back. “Just to get me through to dinner…”  
  
This is the part where Kurogane would normally growl a comment about not being a snack bar or a buffet - _both delightful new ways of eating that they have encountered in their travels, and Fai cannot deny his fondness for all-you-can-eat coffee and cake_ \- or even how he’ll ruin his appetite, but their rooms at the inn are not exactly private and although this world has welcomed their strange little group, batting not a single eyelash at the small, lop-eared creature that dumped them in the town square in swirl of wind and magic, the public opinion towards  _vampires_  is much less favourable; newsboys cry out the latest in a series of bloody attacks amongst the cobbled streets, and posters advertising the service of exorcists and exterminators plaster the winding alleyways that make this city into a labyrinth of stone and gloomy houses, and he’s had to be far too careful not to let his less-than-human tendencies slip the tight rein he has on them.  
  
Add that to the fact they are sharing a room with Syaoran and Mokona, the constantly-patrolling constables and the generally inclement weather and it’s been  _days_  since he’s gotten so much as a glimpse of tanned skin and corded muscle let alone a chance to sink his teeth in for a taste- an oversight that needs to be fixed  _right now_. Not that he can see much at the moment, mind; the smoky, yellow light this world’s gas-lamps give off is weak, and combined with the overhanging structures that make this alley dark enough to hide them both in its charcoal-smudge shadows, the gloom makes it difficult to see beyond the tip of his nose even if he squints. Or at least it does with  _human_  eyes.  
  
“Careful,” murmurs Kurogane, and Fai can see the burning glow of his own gaze reflected in red eyes darkened to near-burgundy by the depths of the alleyway. “Don’t get too carried away.” He snorts derisively at that - _as if he has ever been anything but the very spirit of precaution_ \- and brings one hand around to loosen the buttons at Kurogane’s collar. Starched fabric parts beneath his fingertips, and his lover swallows heavily as Fai leans in to scrape his teeth lightly over pleasantly salty skin, teasing at the soft underside of that strong jaw with a flick of his tongue, and humming low in the back his throat when Kurogane groans thickly.  
 _  
Yes. This._  
  
The big hand resting in the slope of his back, palm burning hot through layers of cloth, slips lower, rucking up the edges of his coat as Kurogane grabs a firm handful of his rear; strong fingers cut roughly into the back of his thigh, and pull Fai closer to grind against him as the ninja leans heavily against the bricks at his back. “Enough with the foreplay,” growls Kurogane, snapping his hips forward; his words are a vibration beneath Fai’s lips that sends a delicious shock of lust to spark against the heat pooling in his belly. “Thought you wanted me quick and dirty against the wall.”  
  
Well. He’s not going to argue with that, and before he can think to stop himself Fai latches his mouth over the pulse-point pounding against his lips and sucks fiercely, teeth finally piercing yielding flesh and sending a rush of heat and red and  _life_ surfing across his tongue in a coppery tide. Kurogane makes a choked, hungry kind of noise and drags him closer, both arms circling Fai now and hands greedy as they wander beneath the folds of his coat, his lover pulling at the seams roughly and shuddering when Fai forces a knee between his thighs.  
  
He drinks faster, mouth moving harder and more insistent against Kurogane’s throat, and when he feels a trickle of hot blood slip past where his lips are sealed to his prey’s throat and drip down his chin in fat, steaming droplets, Fai growls in pleasure and curls his fingers tighter around the slope of one broad shoulder, digging fingernails that itch to stretch into razor-edged talons into the firm muscle hidden beneath thick wool. He’s not normally this aggressive, but tonight he can’t seem to help himself; maybe it’s something about the fog-choked alleyways that twist through cobbled streets, or the biting chill in the air… either way, the heat that pulses into his mouth and stokes a fire in his belly isn’t something he’s going to deny, and judging by the big hand that slides up his spine, callused fingertips dragging against his skin, Kurogane isn’t going to either.  
  
He loses himself in it, in the heat, in the  _taste_ ; in the way Kurogane’s heartbeat thunders through him with every mouthful, and the world around them fades to nothing as his lover moans and Fai drinks deeper still, ignoring the slick wetness that flows down his chin and starts to soak through the crisp white cloth of the ninja’s shirt, forgetting everything but the single bright point of contact between them-  
 _  
“Oi! What business have you- bloody hell!”_  
  
-and Fai hisses in displeasure as a sudden, sharp beam of light falls on them both, cutting into his half-opened eyes and making him snarl as he rips his mouth back from his lover’s throat. Rage builds in him, quick and possessive, and the predator inside rises up to make him bare his teeth in a bloody sneer as the police constable at the end of the alley way goes ashen white; the man drops his lantern in a sudden crash of glass on the paving, oil splashing over the cobbles and catching alight with a sudden  _fwhoomph_  to paint the alley-way in flickering, burning light.  
  
“Demon! Vampire!” cries the poor fool who had the misfortune of stumbling upon them, shielding his face as flames leap over the cobbles; Fai untangles himself from his dazed and groaning lover - _Kurogane slipping down the wall, one hand clutching at torn skin, blood seeping through his fingers, eyes glazed and unseeing_ \- and snaps one hand out to loose his claws with a dangerous  _ssshink_ , the other grabbing onto Kurogane’s arm and hauling the ninja upright with a brutal yank.  
  
But instead of screaming and running as expected, the trembling policeman raises a brass whistle to his lips and when an ear-splitting  _fweet!_  pierces the night air, takes a determined step forward. “Vampire! You’ll find yourself dead by dawn when the hunters come for you!”   
  
Behind him, the streets ring with noise and lights flick on in distant windows; Fai curses and tightens his grip on Kurogane’s wrist as the ninja staggers to his feet, light coming back to his eyes and gaze dragging across Fai’s face as though to say  _we need to get out of here_.  
  
They run. Fai’s fingers dig bruisingly tight into that thick wrist as the winding alleyways flash past them; the cobblestones are slick beneath their feet, damp with the dewy fog that hangs in the air and they tear through the mist as they are chased by shouting constables with lanterns, thick swathes of smoky golden light pouring into the night.  
  
“This is your fault,” hisses Kurogane, fingers still clamped tight about the wound in his neck; worry lances into Fai’s gut to curl tight and cold at the sight of the blood that stains his front, almost black in the gloom, and regret needles him even as his feet pound over the pavement.  
  
“Yes,” says Fai mournfully, and the ninja’s face contorts with something like rage; he dashes sideways suddenly, darting into a half-hidden crevice of a side-alley and dragging Fai after him with a quick yank. “Wha-?” he starts to say, but a strong hand, fingers still slick with blood, clamps over his mouth and he is rendered speechless as his lover pins him to the crumbling wall, turning his back to the mouth of the alley and letting the folds of his greatcoat shield them both. Fai is pinned to his chest, pale hair hidden in the depths of his coat and covered completely as Kurogane looms over him, and their pursuers run right past this tiny space without noticing the men hidden in its mouldering shadows, taking the light and noise with them and leaving them alone in the dark once more.  
  
“You weren’t supposed to agree with me,” murmurs the ninja, voice rough and puffing hot by his ear, and Fai shivers. The wet fingers clamped over his mouth slip free and slide along his cheek softly, and the gesture is tender enough that he can’t care about the blood streaked in their wake. “I thought we were past the whole blaming yourself thing.” There’s nothing like accusation in his tone, and the tight knot in his chest slips loose in a shivering rush as Kurogane dips his head to press their lips together, apparently not giving a damn about the taste of his own blood as he kisses Fai fiercely and chases the last of his fears away.  
  
“Come on,” breathes his lover against his mouth when he pulls back. “We need to get back to the inn, get this hole in my neck bandaged up. It’s not that bad,” he adds, before Fai can even ask, and red eyes turned black by the gloom fix on his face, “so don’t even start with the guilt.”  
  
He can’t argue, not with that look - _determination, exasperation and affection in a familiar jumble of emotions across those well-loved features_ \- so he doesn’t even try, just slips his fingers loose of the wrist he holds and tangles them in the ninja’s own.  


* * *

 “So I know where you two disappeared to last night,” says Syaoran, dropping a heavy stack of paper on the table hard enough to make the cups and saucers rattle. There’s something like barely restrained laughter in his voice as he takes a seat and Kurogane’s eyes narrow as the younger man fixes him with a bright smile. “I wondered why there was such a big fuss at the square,” continues Syaoran, reaching for a crumpet; Mokona bounces off his shoulder and waddles over to the marmalade, forgoing a spoon and simply picking the glass jar up in tiny paws. “There were police everywhere and bells ringing well into the night… seems like there was a vampire loose in the streets!”

Fai chokes on his tea, coughing and spluttering as Syaoran gestures to the first page of many, and Kurogane feels a nerve twitch irritably in his forehead at the sight of the headline.  _VAMPIRE TERRORISES NEIGHBOURHOOD!!_  blazes at him briefly in a splash of boldy-inked letters, and he drops his knife and fork, forgetting about his eggs and bacon, as Fai picks up the page with a weak “Oh dear…”  
  
“What, mage?” he snaps. He’s not in the mood to mess about, and judging by the barely-suppressed laughter shaking in the brat’s shoulders, this joke is definitely on him.  
  
Fai’s lips are moving faintly as his eyes flick quickly over the page; it takes him a little bit to realise that the inky letters beneath his hands are twisting into an approximation of Ceresian script as the in-built translation spell in the newspaper goes to work. “Kuro-sama,” says Fai, and there’s a breathless tone to his voice. “They… well, you have to see this,” and Fai thrusts the paper at him, bursting into a peal of laughter as Kurogane snatches it from his hands.  
  
“What the hell,” he growls, and his eyes blur briefly as the text rearranges itself into neat lines of Nihongo. “‘Late last night, the young constable encountered an unexpected horror in an alley…’” he reads, voice trailing off as his eyes flick over the columns. Words like ‘vicious attack’ and ‘blood’ and ‘unholy terror’ and ‘gleaming teeth’ leap out at him, but it isn’t until he reaches the ‘Artist’s Impression’ at the bottom of the page that he suddenly understands why both the mage and the brat are lost in laughter.  
  
In cross-hatched, hastily sketched ink, someone has mocked-up a cartoony impression of the ‘horrifying vampire attack’, and yes, there’s something that could be Fai, a heavily-cloaked and snarling figure, teeth bared and chin dripping with dark splodges he supposes must be blood; the lanky wraith is leaning over a slumped figure, hair wild and features thin and fierce- but Kurogane’s jaw drops open as he realises the person this fearsome figure is menacing is not some poor artist’s rendition of himself, but a  _swooning maiden_ , complete with heaving bosoms and doe-eyes looking pleadingly up at her attacker, blood trickling from two neat pinpricks in the side of her swan-like neck.  
  
“The.  _Fuck_ ,” snarls Kurogane, crumpling the offending paper into a crinkled ball and throwing it angrily at the giggling manjuu.  
  
“Kuro-swoon makes a pretty maiden~!” croons Mokona, bouncing up to take shelter in the mess of Fai’s hair as he swats at it, and the mage is no better, gasping for air through tears of laughter that pour down his flushed cheeks.  
  
“You have to admit Kuro-sama,” he chokes, clutching his sides as he shakes helplessly, blue eyes bright with mirth, “they got your eyes  _exactly_  right!”  
  
“I hate you all,” growls Kurogane, and slumps in his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme for this part was 'towel', which isn't particularly obvious- it is referring to the fact that normally they would be careful with spillage. When you're hopping world to world, being able to do laundry isn't always something you can count on.
> 
> The omake has no theme per say, only the notion that Kuro-swoon is a very pretty maiden (even if he is a tad bit grumpy about it)!


	4. Neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the NSFW one.

* * *

**Neck**

* * *

Today is a marathon day, Syaoran gently but firmly told to “take Moko-chan and go somewhere else, somewhere  _away from here_ please, and try not to come back for us until well after sundown, ne?” by a smiling mage and the bedroom door barred in the face of his startled flush; that was five hours ago and the midday light flares soft around the edge of the heavy velvet curtains where Fai pulled them closed against the snow and the chill outside, but the sweat on their bodies is not yet cool and they are nowhere near finished with one another.  
  
The mage shifts, smoothing one hand across the side of his thigh, dragging fingernails just hard enough to pink the skin beneath and the low growl that rumbles in Kurogane’s throat is in a no way a warning that he should stop. “This is the only scar you have here,” murmurs Fai, fingertips catching on the pale sheen of an old arrow wound. He spreads his palm, trying to circle the thickness of the muscle of Kurogane’s thigh, but fails, long pale fingers spidered over his leg and thumb pressing into the faint dip where a hole was punched through his flesh by a steel arrowhead.  
  
“Hn,” grunts Kurogane, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in his arms. His wrists are still bound above his head - _tied neatly to the bed-frame with what he suspects was once the tie for the curtains, liberated by the mage an hour or so ago_ \- and just starting to ache. “Don’t think I’m stupid enough to get shot in the leg more than once, do you?”  
  
“No,” laughs Fai, dipping his head and bending himself almost double to trace his tongue over the scar in a quick, wet flick. “My Kuro-sama learns his lessons well.” His breath puffs hot and fast over damp skin, and Kurogane shivers unwillingly, turning his face towards the crook of his elbow and steadying his breathing as warm lips move slowly towards the crease of his hip. One of Fai’s hands catches beneath his knee, the other still braced flat on his thigh, and when the mage straightens himself up in a long, graceful arch of his spine, digging his fingers in, Kurogane has to sink his teeth into his own biceps to stop himself from moaning on the next thrust.  
  
“Hah,” says Fai, head lolling back on his shoulders; he shifts Kurogane’s leg over his shoulder, soft tangled hair tickling the inside of his knee, and blue eyes  _burn_  as he rolls his hips forward again, heat roaring up his spine in a tingling flash of sensation. He can’t stop the groan that strains thickly through his teeth, but the mage has  _earned it_ , so he doesn’t try. “Mmm,” moans Fai, bending forward to change the angle a bit; the flat muscle of his stomach trembles, and sweat trickles down from his damp hair to drip off his eyelashes, pattering onto Kurogane’s skin as his lover surges against him.  
  
His head tips back against the pillow and his fingers curl tight about the headboard as the next few thrusts push him back on tangled sheets and his fingernails bite into wood slick with polish and the sweat from his grasping hands, pleasure jolting through him in quick, shivery bursts synced with the snap of those rolling hips. His eyes are closed and his breathing as level as he can make it, his heartbeat drumming faster and faster even as the mage slows again, turning his face into the curve of Kurogane’s knee, biting nipping kisses against the back of the joint, teeth catching just so-  
  
Fai stops, and it’s on the tip of his tongue to snarl a protest - _because fuck, this is the third time in as many minutes and though he’s used to teasing, used to Fai taking his own sweet time, he’s so close it’s almost painful, and if he keeps this up he’s going to go mad_ \- except that when he opens his eyes Fai is watching him, eyes blurred and golden and hungry where pupils have sharpened enough he almost feels the cut where they drag against his skin, and the words catch in his throat.  
  
“Kuro-sama,” Fai murmurs, voice rough and velvety. His tongue slips out, a barely-there flick of wetness, the curve of his mouth pressing against sweat-slicked skin. Kurogane forces his hands to unclench, his fingers to curl loosely and doesn’t flinch as the sharp edge of teeth scrape just lightly against him.  
  
“You’re hungry.” It’s not a question, and he’s not surprised; this has happened before, sex and blood and the act of feeding so tangled up between them that sometimes it’s hard to make them separate.  
  
“ _Yesss_ ,” slurs Fai, dipping his head; his breath pants hot and wet against the back of his knee, fingernails biting suddenly tight into his skin where Fai digs his fingers in and  _pulls_ , a sudden fierce jerk that forces him closer and the angle of his leg higher; a shock of breath hisses between gritted teeth as the movement drives his lover forward, harder,  _deeper_  and Kurogane bites his own tongue as tension in his groin yanks brutally tight, heat coiling in his gut. “I can hear your heart, so loud, even here,” continues the mage, lips dragging down as Fai leans forward, seeking the line of the big vein that pulses in his thigh.  
  
Pale hair tumbles over trembling shoulders, the hard muscle that cords thin arms twitching, quivering and the soft fall of it spills into his lap in a silken mess as Fai bends himself almost double. “I… I want,” says Fai softly, mouth hot, teeth pressing insistently, “I want to,” and Kurogane groans.  
  
“Yes, fine,  _yes_ , hurry up,” he growls, because even if those teeth have only sunk into his neck before the feeling is familiar and the jangle of anticipation in his belly is almost a relief-  
  
- _almost_ , because when fangs press and press and finally split his skin, the heat of Fai’s mouth a burning brand against the inside of his thigh, he shudders violently and bends his nails almost backwards against smooth-sanded wood as the shock of it roars through his body and he yanks helplessly at his bindings. “Fuck,” he gasps, and it  _is_  a gasp, stunned and breathless; his eyes go wide the way they haven’t since the first time, and the fierce, hungry  _pull_  as his lover drinks his fill pulses in his belly and makes him shake with the heat and the ache of it.  
  
Fai makes a low noise, deep in his throat; a trickle of blood slips past his lips and oozes wet and hot down the back of his leg. Blonde hair,  _so soft_ , slides over his groin in a silken rush, spills over his hip as the mage swallows, and when one hand splays hot and wide over the curve of his hip, fingers dragging, nails catching, it’s almost too much for him.  
  
Kurogane wants to  _touch_ , wants to reach out and grab a fistful of that hair, scrape his fingernails over scalp, tease the slippery strands of it through his fingers, pull in sweet counterpoint as his lover sets his teeth against aching flesh, but he can’t,  _he can’t_ , and Fai,  _Fai_ -  
  
Pleasure rips through him, violent and sudden, and he arches taut, spine curving off the mattress. Fai growls throatily as orgasm takes him, steals the breath from his lungs and knocks stars before his eyes, any resistance he might have had as fangs press in deep and hands clutch tighter and he spills himself in shuddering spasms into the mess of silken hair spilt in his lap burning up in the fierce, bright flash of it; he moans, slow and thick and unable to be ashamed as the tension coiled in his belly slips free, leaving him boneless and satisfied as he slumps against the sheets and his lover’s mouth moves wetly against his skin, drawing blood past soft, heated lips.  
  
Fai only takes a few sips more, tongue gliding flat and wet and smoothing away the last drops of blood from the puncture in his thigh, and when the mage finally lifts his head, his eyes are a vivid slash of blue in the gloom; his expression is three parts exasperated, one part fond and though the frown he favours Kurogane with is annoyed, brows puckered, there’s something like laughter twitching in the corner of his mouth. He rolls his hips as he straightens, and Kurogane shivers as the motion shifts inside him, a sharp aftershock crackling up his spine.  
  
“Kuro-sama. My  _hair_ ,” says Fai; his lips are bloody and very, very red. A slick, pearly splatter drips from the tangle of blonde strands and patters wetly onto his heaving chest, mixing with sweat and rolling down the quivering plane of his belly. “You’re going to pay for that.” There’s a warning building in his voice, and as though to punctuate it, he snaps forward again, the thrust jolting pleasure inside him. It’s almost too much, too good, and he moans again.  
  
“I don’t doubt it,” says Kurogane eventually -once he gets his breath back- and the wide flash of Fai’s teeth, his tongue dragging pink over them, feels like a battle lost. He means to say something else, but Fai sways forward, presses their lips together and he loses whatever the words were in the tang of his own blood sweeping into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme of this shameless smut is 'neck', being, of course, the traditional place for a vampire bite. The twist here is that depending on them, mm, position in question, it might be easier for Fai to sink his teeth into some other part of Kurogane's body... needless to say, Kuro-snack probably has a lot of interesting hickies hidden by his clothes.
> 
> The next chapter is the last chapter, and will wrap everything up. Thank you for reading so far!


	5. Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the fifth and final part; thank you for reading this far!

* * *

**Need**

* * *

The elevators in Piffle are much the same as they always were, even if a good ten years have passed in the world’s own timeline since their first visit; Piffle Princess Corp President-for-Life Tomoyo Daidouji assures them that though the scale and speed is new, the heart of the technology remains the magnetic anti-grav drive, and Fai finds himself smiling and nodding politely as her words wash past him in a genteel tide of terminology and concepts he doesn’t understand. It’s not that he has no interest in the advances that this technological world continues to make in leaps and bounds, it’s simply that  _ooh_ ing and  _aah_ ing over shiny cogs and gears is more in line with Syaoran’s field of study than his.  
  
Still, he is very impressed with the ever-escalating heights of the glass-walled sky-scrapers, racing upwards towards the clouds, and Fai finds himself  _hyuu_ ing in awe as the elevator display ticks over to floor one hundred and twelve. “We’re much higher than last time- we were on floor forty-something then, weren’t we?”  
  
“Forty-nine,” grunts Kurogane, eyes firmly fixed on the etched brass panel above the touch-sensor display that marks this elevator as  _lift twelve, tower three, call 456-653-622 in case of emergency._  “Building was smaller too.” His voice is clipped but not strained, even if the hand that curls around the railing that rings the inside of this small, brass-and-polished-walnut lined chamber is clenched tight enough to leave his knuckles white. His shirt shifts across his shoulders a little, the empty sleeve where his other arm should be - _would be, but for the team of surgeons and mechanics that had stripped it from him earlier that evening in the name of repairs and modifications_ \- pinned neatly to his side.  
  
“Still, it’s good to see the decorations are the same as ever,” says Fai happily, letting his mouth run away with him as his eyes wander, babbling about light fittings and panelling as his gaze flicks over the subtly wider stance his lover takes, legs braced against the shivering rumbles of the tiled floor beneath their feet as the elevator literally moves the earth they stand upon, tightening the tension strung across that broad back; it is unusual to see Kurogane without the prosthetic, even after the installation of a detachable socket-point at their last visit, to allow for the removal of his left arm with the minimum of pain and fuss; as Fai watches he catalogues the small signs that speak of compensation for balance lost. Even in a safe world like Piffle, Kurogane hates to be unarmed- literally so, in this case.  
  
“Hn.” The noise could mean anything, really, but Kurogane’s eyes are closed impassively against the way the elevator lurches gently, slowing a little as they drift towards floor one hundred and thirty, preparing for their stop-  
  
-and when the brass light-fittings flicker out, the tiny little room dropping into darkness and dropping  _down_  in a sudden, sickening swoop that makes Fai’s stomach lurch horribly - _the world spinning as both of them are knocked from their feet and to the floor in a tangle of limbs when it jerks to a staggering halt_ \- he better understands what it is exactly his lover doesn’t like about elevators.  
  
“Ow,” hisses Fai breathlessly, a few minutes later, blinking his eyes open as the same heavy weight crushing him to the floor lifts off his chest. The soft glow of emergency lighting paints the dim space of their tiny room a phosphorous green, casting wan shadows up and over the walls. It’s barely enough for human eyes to see by, but it’s been a while now since his eyesight was of a merely  _human_  standard, and he knows for a fact that Kurogane doesn’t need to rely on sight to find his way around. The ninja grunts, almost nose to nose with him where they’ve fallen -sprawled out across the tiny floor space, Kurogane holding himself up with his one remaining hand and crouched awkwardly over Fai’s body below- and in the greenish dark his eyes are more brown than bloody.  
  
“You alright, Kuro-sama?”  
  
“Tch.” Whilst that particular part of his lover’s vocabulary has many various meanings depending on the context, the disparaging tone of Kurogane’s voice is more  _fuck this is annoying_  than  _I’ve hurt myself quite badly but I’m not actually going to say anything_  or even  _cut my own arm off and bleeding to death over here_ , so Fai takes the truncated statement as it is meant and levers himself up on one elbow. His knees bump against the sides of Kurogane’s long legs as he does so, his lover draped heavily over him and wedged between his thighs, and while the mood is anything but intimate, it’s a position he’s familiar with all the same.  
  
The tight confines of the elevator make it a bit more awkward than it was this morning, but Fai tilts his head upwards all the same, brushes his mouth softly against Kurogane’s own; the kiss is chaste enough considering the situation they find themselves in, and he makes no move to deepen it even as warm lips part and his lover’s exasperated sigh melts into nothingness between them even if he is  _tempted_ -  
 _  
“Kssht-! -you hear-kkt- hello? Hello? Fai-san, Kurogane-san? Can you hear us?”_  
  
The sudden, staticy hiss of Syaoran’s voice through the unseen speakers hidden somewhere in the wood panelling makes them both jump, and Fai’s forehead smacks painfully against Kurogane’s own, scattering stars before his eyes. They spring apart, groaning, and Fai ventures a “Hello?” through gritted teeth even as Kurogane’s head dips low to rest against his shoulder, forehead pressing against him as the ninja mutters curses into the curve of his neck. “Syaoran-kun?”  
  
Another blur of static crackles into the tiny room, seeming to come from all around them.  _“Daidouji-san says that the, uh, com-system is disabled, so this is only one way, but we’ve still got a… a visual feed, so we can see you even if we can’t hear you. Um. She also says that you’re perfectly safe-”_  
  
Fai’s stomach drops horribly at the hesitant sound of the young man’s voice, and Kurogane freezes half-way through attempting to roll off him, eyes wide with something almost like dread.  
 _  
“-provided you don’t move around too much or touch anything. Um. So just, just stay where you are-”_  
  
“Not like we’ve got any choice,” grumbles Kurogane.  
 _  
“-and we’ll have a rescue team down there in an hour or so. Probably. Sorry,”_  the boy adds, voice blurring into static once more, then falling quiet with a series of popping clicks.  
  
There is silence for a moment, the both of them waiting to hear if there will be anything more added, but when nothing more than a muted hush comes from the speakers -along with the distant sounds of machinery in the elevator shaft above them- Fai sighs and rests his head back against the floor. “Well. This could be worse, Kuro-sama.” Kurogane doesn’t dignify him with a reply, shifting his weight onto his knees as he eases himself up slowly, tipping gently to the side and coming to rest between Fai’s body and the back of their cramped little room, shuffling awkwardly back into the corner as best he is able with one arm.  
 _  
Ah._  
  
He doesn’t ask if Kurogane needs help, but the tension strung tight across those broad shoulders and the faint grunting noises he makes as one big hand reaches for the brass handrail for balance is enough to tell Fai that his lover is not happy. The ninja doesn’t say anything though, and he won’t offer assistance unless asked for it, which leaves Fai just shy of helpless as the pin holding Kurogane’s empty sleeve against his shirt comes free and sets cotton to hanging loose over his barren shoulder. Kurogane closes his eyes for a moment, fingers still tight on the rail, and Fai takes a slow, even breath, feeling the predator in him stir to wakefulness at the faint scent of blood.  
  
“Your shoulder,” he says flatly. It’s not an accusation -they’re past that now- and Kurogane doesn’t try to dodge his gaze, just accepts the weight of it as it trails over his face and down.  
  
“Hit it on the wall when we fell. It’s fine.”  
  
“Let me see,” says Fai firmly, and rolls onto his knees to crawl over to Kurogane’s side. The elevator rocks a little, but the motion stills as soon as he reaches the wall, and Fai flops into the hollow where Kurogane’s left arm should be regardless of the worrying creaking sounds coming from above them. The ninja says nothing as he pushes his sleeve up gently, exposing thin strips of gauze and beneath that tanned and scarred skin, and it’s easy to see Kurogane was right; there isn’t much blood, a few droplets at most, skin barely broken and the scent faint and weak- but it’s still  _blood_ , and while Fai’s self control is perfect, it’s not exactly what he wants to taste with every breath when he’s stuck in a confined space for the next hour or so and unable to do anything about it. He breathes in again, slow, and lets the faint hunger that always rises with that scent - _preylovermine-_  slip loose where it knots in his belly.  
  
He sighs, and lets his fingertips trail aimlessly over scar tissue and connecters both. Kurogane shivers, just barely, and that the skin here is so sensitive is something Fai marvels at. He rarely touches Kurogane’s shoulder, not consciously anyway; he’s always wary of putting weight and pressure on the seam between metal and flesh, and he’s never touched it like  _this_ , with the prosthetic gone and scars exposed - _not since that first night in Clow when they’d stripped each other bare of everything between them, lies and bandages both_ \- and it is… different.   
  
But just as red eyes never shied from the dark cloth shielding the sunken emptiness of the eyelid beneath, he will not turn his gaze away from these scars - _this sacrifice_ \- made on his behalf. This, too, is part of his lover; as much as dark hair or a sharp smirk or the warm, life-giving blood that pulses from that strong heart and eases the aching emptiness inside him. So Fai lets his hands wander, smoothing over skin both scarred and smooth, and the warmth of firm muscle beneath his fingertips soothes whatever worries he has that Kurogane was injured in their sudden lurching fall.   
  
The taut wariness in his lover’s posture bleeds away as Fai’s fingers wind over his shoulder, pressing at the straining knots and easing away the tension from their current situation, and the look on Kurogane’s face as he does so is one he’s only seen a handful of times, the shadowy distortions of the green emergency lighting not enough to dampen the impact of the faint smile that creases the corner of his mouth. “I told you I was fine,” his lover murmurs, and Fai grins back.  
  
“Kuro-stoic said he was fine last time too,” says Fai, and they both know what last time he is talking about. Kurogane huffs something that from anyone else would have been a deprecating chuckle, and red eyes flick to Fai’s face, unerring even in the greenish gloom that cloaks them, as though the ninja would say something- but when the elevator jolts suddenly - _a brief and quickly-halted drop as their presumed rescuers attach something above them, judging by the sound_ \- Fai’s hands slip over his shoulder, the long fingers of one hand curling behind the nape of his neck and into short hair even as the other hand splays wide, spreading fingers over winding scar tissue, and whatever words his lover would speak are lost as he snaps his mouth shut.  
  
“Kuro-sama?”  
  
A tight muscle flutters in Kurogane’s clenched jaw, the ninja’s eyes firmly shut as the ratcheting sounds from above them make the elevator jerk again and once more still; even Fai, who has no particular issue with heights or closed spaces, feels discomforted by the rocking motion, and broad shoulders tighten once more with tension beneath his hands, Kurogane’s pulse jumping against his palm with each thudding  _clank_  and grind of gears above them. His lover’s scent changes, bitter and smoky beneath the taste of blood, of  _prey_ ; Fai takes an open-mouthed breath and  _feels_  his pupils slit, his fingernails itching as his claws ache to push through nailbeds, curl long and sharp from the tips of his fingers. His throat draws tight and hot, and he cannot speak- because it’s not  _need_  that drives this sudden rush of sensation, not even hunger; something simpler and far more human -even if he himself is not- makes him tip his head forward, touch his lips soft to the seam of metal and flesh, and Kurogane stills beneath the touch as the kiss trails up and over his shoulder.  
  
He only stops when he reaches the rumpled cloth of Kurogane’s rucked up sleeve, and from there it is the simplest thing in the world to move closer and press his lips to the bared throat of his lover. The ninja doesn’t resist, just sighs, head tipping back against the wall of the elevator; his eyes are shuttered closed, but his shoulders loosen and when Fai parts his lips to tease with the faintest edge of fangs, Kurogane groans, low and soft, and a shiver rolls down through muscle and bone as he sinks his teeth  _in_.  
  
Fai doesn’t take much, barely a few sips; he fed last night and while the taste of Kurogane’s blood is as glorious as ever, right now, it’s not  _him_  that needs this. The feeding is slow, languid almost; inch by inch Kurogane slumps, relaxing against the wall, and one hand - the only hand his lover has, in fact- reaches out to grab a fistful of Fai’s shirt and pull him closer as he chases the few stray droplets that trickle past his lips with lazy swipes of his tongue. His awareness of the room, the poor lighting, the precariousness of their situation- it all fades into nothing, only the steady beat of his lover’s heart - _beneath the hand he splays warm across that firm chest, beneath the lips he presses to the arch of that throat_ \- and the red that flows hot and perfect into his mouth.  
  
It’s so good that he almost forgets the rescuers above them- almost, because when there is a sudden grind of straining metal and bright light floods their dark and close chamber, he has enough presence of mind to disengage gently, letting his tongue trail softly over the small, neat wound in tanned skin to seal it.  
  
“Kurogane, Fai! We managed to get the shaft open and-  _oh_.” Syaoran, peering down at them and backlit by the bright flare of fluorescent floodlights, flushes a little, cheeks glowing pink even in the shadow that falls over his face. “Um. We can shut the roof again, if you’re not finished…” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed. Fai laughs.  
  
“No, we’re good,” he says, rocking back onto his knees -because they  _are_ , for now at least, and the knowledge of that is a warm weight in his chest that seems to melt all the way through him as he stands up. Kurogane’s hand slips free of his shirt, fingers trailing over his hip briefly; the ninja is not looking at him, face turned away against the brightness above them both, filled with the sounds of mechanics and engineers and the distant giggles of one Miss Daidouji echoing down the elevator shaft, but even so Fai can see his face clearly.  
  
“ _Tch_ ,” says Kurogane again, and the smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth is not one Fai would have expected to see in the cramped confines of a broken-down elevator -the warm tangle of their bedsheets, perhaps, as the both of them slip slowly into sleep, or the cool shadows of Clow Palace walls as Sakura’s thin arms struggle to hold them all as she tackles the whole group of her travelling family with a single hug more so- but is no less wonderful for that fact.  
 _  
I love you_ , thinks Fai, sudden and sure.  _I love you more than I can stand, more than I ever thought I could ever love anyone. Blood, breath and bone- I love every inch of you, and gods help me, but I never want to stop._  
  
“Give me a hand up, Syaoran-kun,” is what he says, though, bracing his feet against the wall as he grabs onto the wrist of the boy that might as well be his son and hauls himself upwards; as soon as he is up on the elevator’s cramped roof, surrounded by technicians and a beaming Tomoyo on some sort of hover-trolley nearby, he reaches back down to Kurogane below.  
  
“Take my hand, Kuro-sama,” and red eyes meet blue. Kurogane mutters something doubtful and deprecating about Fai's ability to bear his weight, but he reaches back all the same. The fingers that take hold of his own are as strong and as sure as they ever were, and it’s only a moment’s work to haul the ninja upwards and into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme of this chapter was 'need', in that it is need that drives Fai to bite- but in this case, the need isn't his. It's Kurogane's. I wanted to play with the idea that, over time, the act of feeding becomes a comfort to them both; that Fai will feed not only when he needs to, but when Kurogane needs him to, for the reassurance it can be.
> 
> There's a call-back to Nightcap here, in that Kurogane is discomfited by elevators, but I don't think you need to have read the first to understand this.
> 
> And of course, the ending is shamelessly sappy, because how could I not? I hope you enjoyed this, and thank you very much for reading.


End file.
